Doors Unhinged
by ACleverName
Summary: Mrs Dalloway loves green. She loves giving parties. She doesn't love Cockneys, Welshmen, or the wireless, but she is ambivalent about Miss Prince. A (wait for it) Wonder Woman / Mrs Dalloway / Tommies (the BBC Radio Drama series) / Forever / Doctor Who crossover.
1. Chapter 1

_1923_

Mrs Dalloway inspected her elegant armoire. The light from the bevelled windows facing Dean's Yard cast a green shadow on her as she examined the rails and rails of clothing. A fleeting thought assaulted her, that her wardrobe was entirely composed of green: her dark olive green winter coat, low-heeled shoes in olive drab and chartreuse and lime, a silken wrap of sea green and a day dress of forest green, pistachio-colored gloves and matching hat, and (naturally) crocodile-skin purse; an opera cloak of juniper color and emeralds set with pearls for throat, wrists, and breast. It was June. She was happy to wear green. Green suited her.

She closed the armoire and turned back to look at the mint-colored, low-waisted dress on the bed that the maid had laid out for her. It was what she had chosen two weeks ago for the party she was hosting that evening, and she wasn't about to deviate from that resolution now. Sally Seton always looked intense and lovely in wine-dark red or crimson. Mrs Dalloway tried to remember why she had come into the ante-room to her bedchamber in the first place. If she was the type of woman to write a to-do list, everything on it would have been ticked off by now, and it was only ten o'clock in the morning. It was April. Maybe she had been standing by the facing windows to hear Big Ben bong, as that enormous sound regulated her life so. In the silence anticipating Big Ben, she heard the servants' bell for the front door ring.

It was unmannerly of anyone to call at this time. She had bought the flowers for the evening, she had spoken to the cook, and she wasn't expecting any deliveries. Richard would not be home from his work, and besides, why wouldn't Richard just walk in? Mrs Dalloway was pondering such mysteries—Elizabeth was probably at the British Museum reading—when a maid coughed at the threshold of the ante-room. "Miss Prince to see you, ma'am," the girl said gravely. "Shall I say you are in?"

Mrs Dalloway prided herself on the ability to immediately read people. Although, strictly speaking, Miss Prince was a friend of Elizabeth's, Mrs Dalloway had warmed to her immediately. Mrs Dalloway had been to see a Chinese silk screen in Holborn, and therefore had decided to meet Elizabeth for lunch at the Russell Hotel. Fortunately, Elizabeth had been at that time snubbing Miss Kilman, perhaps due to the influence of Miss Prince. Mrs Dalloway had seen them standing side-by-side. As Elizabeth had a cast that almost looked Oriental, Miss Prince's dark hair was complemented by equally dark eyes. Mrs Dalloway was usually disconcerted by eyes which betrayed any propensity to intensity, but she had been too surprised by Miss Prince's awkwardly enormous size. By no means was she rotund; in fact, she was quite the opposite, masculinely tall and broad-shouldered under an old-fashioned, long-hemmed skirt suit. Mrs Dalloway was a tall woman herself, taller, indeed, than Richard by about one centimetre; she decided that Miss Prince had been in the War. Not wishing to think any more about the War (which was, of course, over), Mrs Dalloway had looked to Elizabeth to introduce the monumental woman, whose hair was severely pulled back under a wide-brimmed hat (not at all fashionable, and not at all green).

Mrs Dalloway kissed her daughter. "Mama, I should like to introduce you to Miss Diana Prince," said Elizabeth, looking slightly flushed.

"Mrs Dalloway," said Miss Prince, inclining her head but not her rather ember-like eyes. There was a sweetness to the girl when she parted her lips that was totally at odds with the rest of her. "I have heard so much about you from Elizabeth." Her voice was low, and her accent curiously foreign. She was not some dreadful American?

Mrs Dalloway acknowledged Miss Prince, gathering from remarks contributed by Elizabeth that Miss Prince was some sort of assistant at the British Museum. Although Mrs Dalloway's skin shrank shrilly from the warning signs that Miss Prince might be a bluestocking, she reined herself in when Miss Prince suggested that she had been plying Elizabeth to engage in more active pursuits.

Elizabeth was laughing and covering her mouth. "All right, Diana, badminton if you must."

Since that first meeting, Mrs Dalloway had been gratified that Miss Prince had once come to luncheon at the house in Dean's Yard. They had also met once by chance in Green Park, at which time Miss Prince was attended by a pumpkin-like woman who identified herself as Miss Candy. "A rather unfortunate surname, I confess," she had burbled under the watchful and silent gaze of Miss Prince, who had elegantly jettisoned her umbrella into the air as it began to rain, neatly encompassing the three women, "yet I fear there is nothing to be done about it. Except, to, uh, marry, I suppose, and then gain the name of another. Uh. Ha." Mrs Dalloway eyed her coolly; it seemed she did not work with Miss Prince at the British Museum but at Whitehall, as a secretary. Mrs Dalloway had meant to quiz Richard if he had ever heard of her, but the idea had quite gone out of her head.

Now Miss Prince had been ushered into the sitting room looking rectangular and severe in her dark clothing, despite the riotous June weather. She never sat down when bidden, which Mrs Dalloway thought dimly had something to do with the War, but stood at attention in whatever room she surveyed, scrutinizing its contents rather like an auctioneer. Mrs Dalloway excused herself for being only dressed in morning-wear, expecting Miss Prince to likewise offer some explanation for being so early. Instead, she said, "It is nice, this weather."

Mrs Dalloway nodded. Big Ben muttered loudly in the background, competing with the mantle clock. "You are still coming to the party tonight?" Mrs Dalloway urged. It would be just like the eccentric Miss Prince to come in person to give her apologies for a last-minute cancellation. Mrs Dalloway despised eccentrics, as a matter of course, but Miss Prince's kindness to Elizabeth—not to mention her occasional physical resemblance to Sally Seton—superseded Mrs Dalloway's better judgement.

Miss Prince furrowed her brow. "Yes. That's why I came this morning."

Mrs Dalloway opened her mouth in confusion.

"You said you needed to unhinge the doors, in preparation for the party," continued Miss Prince, with earnest defiance. She raised her arms in the air. "I can help you." She was already walking toward the door that led into the vestibule with a great purpose in her stride, making little noise on the parquet floor despite the massive size of her high-heeled boots.

"No, no, Miss Prince, we shall have one of the men do it!" Mrs Dalloway murmured, moving toward Miss Prince to stop her from . . . who knew what. "Thank you for your offer, but it is quite in hand." She stared quizzically at Miss Prince. Did American women have to resort to back-breaking labor to throw their own parties in Chicago or Ann Arbor? Mrs Dalloway wasn't convinced that Miss Prince _was_ American—if she consciously thought about these things at all—but it soothed her conscience to think so. Imagining her to be a White Russian offended her sensibilities.

Miss Prince looked crestfallen but quickly resolved her expression to one of calm. At that moment, Mrs Dalloway heard the feet of the maid crashing on the floor behind them. "It's Captain Bliss, ma'am," the maid said apologetically. "He's insisting on seeing Miss—"

Captain Mickey Bliss moved haltingly but insistently into the room, doffing his homburg to Mrs Dalloway and shaking Miss Prince's hand warmly as she strode quickly across the room to meet him. "Mickey!" said Miss Prince. "I did not expect to see you—"

Captain Bliss, evidently—despite his decidedly low-toned origins polished by service in the Indian Army—cognizant of the lack of propriety, gave a bow to Mrs Dalloway. "Mrs Dalloway, I apologize for barging in on you like this—"

"The party, as I was explaining to Miss Prince, is this evening. Aperitifs commence at seven on the dot." Mrs Dalloway was more sniffy than she would have been had Captain Bliss caught her alone. He was, inexplicably, an acquaintance of both Richard's and Peter Walsh's, and evidently he knew Miss Prince, too. Perhaps quite intimately, if the intensity with which Miss Prince stared at him was an indication. Mrs Dalloway tried to shake off the effects Captain Bliss' odious Cockney accent had upon her. He was an all-right looking man, she supposed, although dreadfully common. He dressed well and had an open, obliging sort of face, and his limp looked heroic rather than handicapped. When he opened his mouth, though, it was as if sandpaper came out; Mrs Dalloway had never heard anything so dreadful in polite company. EVER. In April. Or EVER.

"I'm very sorry," he began again, looking from Miss Prince and then to Mrs Dalloway. "I certainly intend to come to the party tonight, by your kind invitation." It was Richard who had invited him. He was unmarried but on the up and up, so Richard claimed. "I am on a mission, however, to find Miss Prince here."

"Whatever for?"

Miss Prince turned to Mrs Dalloway. "I am to be a guest on Mickey's radio program."

"Radio program?" Mrs Dalloway did not own a wireless. She could not remember ever hearing a radio program before. She could not imagine such a fad catching on. Still, Richard assured her the British Broadcasting Company was full of ex-Servicemen and therefore reasonably respectable. She supposed that was why Captain Bliss was evidently associated with the outfit. Had Richard said he was something of an expert with wireless telegraphy, had done it in a big way during the War?

"Yes, ma'am," said Captain Bliss, smiling, the light from the French windows shining on his macassared hair. "We have begun a series of talks on the wireless, and we are attempting to appeal to a wide audience."

"Will you be singing?" Mrs Dalloway tried, looking hopefully at Miss Prince. She _had_ heard of Dame Nellie Melba.

Miss Prince smiled her enigmatic smile. Or perhaps it was merely amused. Or perhaps she had indigestion. "No, Mrs Dalloway, I will be talking about ancient civilizations, their languages, and what the newest science can tell us about the past, for our better understanding of the future."

Mrs Dalloway blinked. "All that at once?"

"Miss Prince, as I'm sure you know, has a way with words," put in Captain Bliss. Mrs Dalloway sniffed. She was starting to find him as oily as his hair. "Mrs Dalloway, I crave your indulgence, but I must whisk Miss Prince off to Savoy Hill . . ."

"No, you are right," said Miss Prince, consulting the watch-pin on her lapel. "We must not keep Mr Reith waiting." Inwardly, Mrs Dalloway sighed in relief. She'd had quite enough unorthodoxy this morning. She must return to her scheduled day, everything must proceed like Big Ben's clockwork. Bong, bong, bong.

Miss Prince and Captain Bliss were proceeding in an orderly fashion out of the room and down the stairs when all three became aware of shouting from outside. Mrs Dalloway's instinct was to ignore it—that was what propriety dictated one do with the mad, and only the mad shouted—but, to her chagrin but not her surprise, Miss Prince strode boldly toward the window, followed by Captain Bliss. Mrs Dalloway remained where she was, fretting. What would Sally have done in such a situation?

Miss Prince stared intensely down below into the street, her eyebrows knitting together. Then she leaned forward and started shouting as well. REALLY. This was too much. "Get away! You are causing a disturbance!" Someone in the street shouted up; it was something like, "Stop that man! He's stolen—" But what he'd stolen went unclarified.

Miss Prince leapt from the room, taking the steps three at a time, followed by Captain Bliss, limping along. (Really, couldn't he have stopped her? A _real_ officer and gentleman would have.) "Miss Prince!" Captain Bliss called after her, after she had barged her way past the startled servants and out the door (Mrs Dalloway was standing at the top of the stairs). "The wireless program!" Captain Bliss stormed after Miss Prince. Drawn against her will to the open window, Mrs Dalloway peered diffidently into the street. She could make out none of the neighbors, but suspected they were there, also peering down, through their lace curtains.

By the time Miss Prince had gotten there, there was now only one person, the man who had shouted. Mrs Dalloway sputtered in shock. She needed a lie-down now. It was Dr Henry Morgan, the physician who shared an address with the eminent Sir William Bradshaw. Mrs Dalloway knew him to look at, but he was not the sort of person she would ever invite to her parties. First of all, green didn't suit him at all. Though eminently respectable, he had a rather vulgar sense of humor. He looked younger than his wit would suggest, though he looked older than he ought. He also had a trace of a Welsh accent that made Mrs Dalloway deeply suspicious about his parentage. He was catching his breath when Miss Prince placed her hand on his shoulder—was he her physician as well?—followed by the limping, gasping Captain Bliss.

"Good gracious," said Dr Morgan, looking at Miss Prince in surprise. "Do we know each other?"

"Never mind that, are you hurt? What has happened?"

"I'm not hurt—I was pursuing a thief, who called himself a doctor—what rubbish—and he got away."

"I will call the police," said Miss Prince resolutely, as Captain Bliss finally caught up with her.

"Miss Prince—" began Captain Bliss in a long-suffering tone.

"No need to call the police," stated Dr Morgan, with a roguish smile (Mrs Dalloway found it repulsive and unprofessional. Richard would have agreed with her). "He's gone in _there_ , so he's either about to be apprehended or—he's more of a policeman than he is a doctor." Mrs Dalloway found herself crouching out of the window in a most undignified position in order to see what Dr Morgan was pointing out. As far as she could tell, he had walked into a blue shed that was, indeed, marked with the words "Police Public Call Box." But what was a police public call box?

"Do you suppose-?" began Captain Bliss, suddenly diverted from his object in bringing Miss Prince to Savoy Hill.

"A great boon to the police if it is," agreed Dr Morgan. "The average bobby loses so much time going back and forth, the use of a telephone—"

"Inspired," concluded Captain Bliss with a smile. "I wonder if they're being put widely into service?"

"It's the first one I've seen."

"I don't understand," Miss Prince said flatly.

"Let's go apprehend the blighter," said Captain Bliss, with firmness. Mrs Dalloway shrunk from the window; the language offended her, as did the thought that there might be confrontation and murder in front of her very doorstep.

But then something very strange happened. As Captain Bliss, Miss Prince, and Dr Morgan approached the blue shed, the most appalling sound Mrs Dalloway had ever heard—yes, even worse than Richard's snoring—grated through the air. And the shed simply faded away!

Captain Bliss, Miss Prince, and Dr Morgan stood in the street in shock. Mrs Dalloway clung to the windowsill in a spasm of astonishment and nausea. "Blimey," said Captain Bliss (vulgarly).

"Is this normal?" asked Miss Prince.

Dr Morgan laughed. "Not as far as I'm aware. Though if the police are now able to disappear and reappear at will, I hope they will extend their expertise to catching criminals instead of spiriting them away."

"We cannot give up," said Miss Prince. "He cannot have vanished." Captain Bliss consulted his pocket-watch. Miss Prince looked deeply contrite. "We have missed our appointment with Mr Reith."

"Can't be helped," said Captain Bliss with a (vulgar) shrug.

"Look, I know this is very irregular, seeing as how we haven't been introduced—" Here Dr Morgan held out his hand first to Bliss, then to Miss Prince, "—but would you like to come back to my offices? As a doctor I can hardly think of prescribing alcohol at this time of the morning, but I'd say we needed something pretty strong."

"My thoughts exactly."

Dr Morgan turned to Miss Prince. "I submit to you, Miss, that I don't normally recommend pre-lunch scotch to young women whom I've just met, but I suspect you are difficult to offend." Miss Prince inclined her head.

"Captain Mickey Bliss. And this is Miss Prince."

Dr Morgan offered his arm to Miss Prince, and the three began to walk away. Mrs Dalloway, still clinging to the inside of her window—shredding the green sleeves of her morning-gown—strained to follow their conversation as they receded from sight.

"What exactly did this doctor steal from you?"

"Well, it was a pocket-watch, something which has great sentimental value for me. He assured me that he was only borrowing it, and that I should have it back before tea-time." Dr Morgan laughed. "I should be very angry indeed, but for some very strange reason, I feel I must believe him."

"He didn't look like the common sort of thief, then?"

"No, he was a grey-haired gentleman with an irascible Scotch temper. Climbed out the first floor window . . ."

At this point, the conversation became impossible to understand. Mrs Dalloway cleaved to the window, her mind an open space that wasn't, for once, green, but white and blue . . . behind her, the door to the room scraped open. "Ma'am, did you want these flowers for-?"

Mrs Dalloway had the delicacy to faint dead away. She was quickly revived by smelling salts which the maid patiently held under her nose. She was helped into her bed where she lay in suspended animation for an hour. Eventually, though, her fierce desire to host one of her regular parties overwhelmed the confusion into which her senses had been thrown. She would let Elizabeth keep Miss Prince, but she would no longer connect the odd young woman with Sally Seton. By the time Mrs Dalloway had dressed for the party, she had sublimated the whole experience. She was now convinced that Miss Prince, Dr Morgan, and Captain Bliss had all been involved in some ghastly business in the War and were therefore unfit for polite company.

Richard noticed that she snubbed Miss Prince at the party, as did Elizabeth. Mrs Dalloway soon forgot the whole incident, though every time the doors were unhinged in preparation for her parties, she would sigh and remember something distantly about public police call boxes . . .


	2. Author's note

Currently, the BBC Radio Drama series _Tommies_ has one more year to go, and as of the 11 November 2017 episode, Captain Mickey Bliss was in pretty bad straits indeed. I don't know if he will ultimately survive the series, and whether he'll be together enough to attract the attention of Diana Prince, but here's hoping.


End file.
